


Blood Moon

by PastelWonder



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Age Difference, Anal, Biting, Blood Drinking, Blood-Bonds, Comeplay, Dark Kylo Ren, Death and the Maiden vibes, F/M, Fighting and Intense Scenes, Imprinting, Interspecies Sexing, Just a lot lot lot of sex, Lifemates - Freeform, Light BDSM, Loss of Virginity, Mirror Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Pet-play, Romance, Rux endgame, Sex and Nudity, Size Difference, Vampire Armitage Hux, Vampires, Violence and Gore, Werewolf Kylo Ren, Werewolf Rey, Werewolves, heat - Freeform, modern vampire au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2019-11-14 11:15:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18051470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelWonder/pseuds/PastelWonder
Summary: With her pack-Alpha murdered and her clan scattered to the wind, Rey Niima is running for her life from the dark Alpha wolf who has every right to claim her.Straight into the enemy's arms - the D'abord Family's deadly patriarch, Father Armitage.Will the Dragon of Los Angeles help her? Perhaps. For a price...





	1. Let me hear you scream into the night...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ladyloreyn](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Ladyloreyn).
  * Inspired by [Blood Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/462764) by Ash Adams. 



> The trashy Midnight City - werewolf/vampire erotica I've always wanted to write. 
> 
> This work is inspired by the novel Blood Moon, a work of the insanely talented Ash Adams. 
> 
> See the tags love the tags be the tags. (Seriously, read the tags)

_I’m not going to make it._

That’s the slick black tentacle of fear curling up from the chest-on-fire sensation in her lungs to take her by the throat. Heart raving against her ribs, she corners yet another building at a full sprint.

She’s been running since he ran her bike into the road block on Del Monico Drive.

Her hands are torn to shit, the left side of her leg has a rip in the jean from shin to thigh. Her calves are burning, she has no feeling in her fingers slicing at the fetid night as her arms pump to the rapid staccato-rhythm of her feet. Her motorcycle boots hardly touch the pavement, chains behind her heel _chinkchinkchinking_ like the clamber of a chain gang. She hasn’t drawn a full breath in what feels like her entire life, for the terror and the miasma of smog.

That son of a _bitch_ tracked her here all the way from the High Desert. She _felt_ his presence on I-405 before she heard the furious _wheerr_ of his ’98 Streetfighter weaving at the speed of light through the headlights behind her to reach her. Heart in her throat, she choked her throttle and shot across three lanes of bumper-to-bumper and in-between construction signs to take the number 34 off-ramp as fast as her cylinders could turn.

And slammed headlong into a concrete crash barrier waiting for her at the bottom of the ramp. The impact split her helmet in half.

Everything after that’s been a watercolor nightmare, riding a rollercoaster with no seatbelt, her senses seesawing on overload as she burns through back alleys and side streets and scales chain link four times her height.

How the _fuck_ did he find her so _fast-_  

A hundred yards behind her, the two-ton dumpster she just managed to shoulder straining and snarling into his path slams screeching across the asphalt in a shower of white-hot sparks. It collides with a building on her left and smashes like a matchbox.

 _Shit!_ She shouldn’t have tried it, she shouldn’t have stopped, she’s given up her lead and this is it-

He _howls._

“Rey!”

_Shit-fuck shit-fuck shit-fuck-_

Impossibly, she peddles faster, cheap beaded jewelry clinking wildly as she skids sideways into another cut-through that dumps her out onto-

_Santa Monica Boulevard!_

“Yes,” she gasps, totally breathless, as a new shockwave of electric adrenaline washes her tingling-bright.

She’s almost there.

“Fuck yes fuck yes fuck-”

At three am, the palm-lined sidewalks are still pulsing with pedestrians, the street lit in two parallel lines by the lazy glower of headlamps and break lights.

_Go go go go go go-_

He’s gaining ground, she can _feel_ him bearing down on her as she blows past Cole Ave.

She has no other choice.

She darts into oncoming traffic, missing the ninety-nine bus and hitting that double-yellow line at what she’s sure has to be a hundred kilometers per hour for how hard her heart is pumping. Horns blare and people scream as vehicles swerve to miss her. Her hands shake. His ferocious shouting gets lost in the din, but she’s downwind, and she can _smell_ him. His musk swallows the streets like a broiling tidal wave sweeping fast through the valley.

_Fury._

She is much smaller than he is, and quicker, but bobbing and weaving between polar streams of traffic slows her down. Out of her left periphery, she sees him barreling down the sidewalk, tearing through pedestrians like they’re a home-team banner until he achieves full parody. For that split second, their eyes meet over the roofs of cars and between street lamps and bus stops.

_Kylo Ren._

Her gut plummets, she wants to vomit, she wants to scream, to leap onto someone’s hood and beg for help. But nothing can stop him.

An Alpha his size in full-rut can stop a freight train with his bare hands.

He leaps into the street.

On a terror-filled gamble, she darts before looking and loses the bet with the Maserati squealing up behind her that can’t break in time.

It clips her hip hard and throws her like a spinner so high and so far it’s the hood of a Ford Escape racing the lane beside it that breaks her fall. She hits the windshield with enough force to shatter it in one, the glass webbing and giving inward before it collapses and she starts to cave with it. Someone on the other side of it is shrieking as the world flickers and starts to fade black.

_No no no don’t stop don’t stop get up he’s coming he’s coming bitch GET UP HE’S COMING-_

A sound like the world groaning and splitting apart wrenches her back to Earth. Through her watery, waning eyesight, she makes out his shape, massive and darker than Death, lifting a Humvee with its wheels still spinning and axle fishtailing fully off the road. The vehicle struggles in his two-handed grip like a living thing until he twists at the waist and it hurls into the building behind him.

That’s it. She has to get up. _Now._

Cells on fire, she scrambles, hands reaching up through the neon night for anything to grab onto as she clambers up out of the glass and twisted metal. She lands hard on her knees in the street, balled shards of shatter fall like glassine rain from the folds of her jacket and her half-hanging treble of buns. Her hip riots as she surges up onto her feet, she lurches and chokes on a retch, holding her stomach. Every bone in her body feels like it’s broken. But her instinct to survive is stronger than her desire to lie down in the street and die.

It has to be.

 _Hudson,_ the white letters kaleidoscope against the background of the sign when she tilts her head back and squints. She coughs, tasting copper.

_One more to Highland. C’mon bitch, c’mon-_

She takes off again, grunting and groaning and snarling, trailing blood and spittle from her mouth onto her denim jacket and the filthy camisole beneath. Her surroundings pass her in one long, smeared, sieving blur, orange and violet and florescent white, cobalt and concrete. Up ahead, she hears the whine and gravel of a techno-beat and high, aristocratic laughter.

Highland Avenue.

_Home free._

Over a sleek black awning, a slate sign with its cut-out script backlit in sanguine says, _Sang D’abord._ Below it, fanged by thick velvet rope and preceded by a lush red-carpet tongue, the entrance to the club looms like an open mouth.

Her feet hit the pavement at a painful angle, she feels the shake in her legs with every sprinting step. _A little more, babe, a little more-_

A woman gaping at her on her right suddenly looks behind her and screams.

On reflex, Rey springs left.

Like a meteor hurtling down from the sky, his massive paw rips past her shoulder, creating its own drag with its sheer brute size.

“Don’t you dare you little bitch,” his snarl from behind falls directly into her ear and slips sickening down her spine.

“W-watch me, c-cunt-” she rasps, what precious little breath she has left burning her mouth dry as she drags it up out of her lungs. _Fucking watch._

Two sentinel figures on either side of the door move closer together at their barreling approach. A lick of triumph curls viciously through her gut.

Alpha or not, he won’t last two seconds inside.

In one last ditch move of defiance, she raises her middle finger and puts it all into one final leap, sticking an ugly landing just on the other side of the rope.

 _Suck it,_ her heart crows. His howl rattles her bones as she shambles over the threshold and behind a black satin drape.

The cold is unbearable.

Like crashing through a wall of rushing ice, it drenches her completely, seeping through her clothes and her skin to saturate her soul. Her knees buckle, she catches herself with a hand on someone’s chest lingering by the entrance, then jerks back with a startled snarl when the creature hisses like a cat and bares its incredible fangs.

Bloodsuckers.

Hundreds of them. Crawling in every crack and crevice of this club.

LA is their city. Abominations like her were cast out ages ago, way before she was born, by the Dragon. Banished to the High Desert, her clan built its brute kingdoms in Antelope Valley and in the surrounding wastelands, while the devils reigned over the Angel City.

She is not allowed in Los Angeles, but neither is Kylo Ren. _Especially_ not Kylo Ren.

This is her only hope.

Quaking from fear and from the rapid conversion of adrenaline to total exhaustion, she staggers lurching and paws through the throngs of them that loll languidly around cocktail tables and in each other’s arms. High above along the exposed steel rafters, can-lights twist and revolve.

With every striking glance of their strobes, she sees their eyes flash. Colorless and penny-bright.

They are _horrifying._ Unbelievably tall, slender, the pallor of a full moon and dressed in sensual darks and sumptuous styles. Classical mixed with sex. It makes her heart grip with a hopeless terror, but she keeps pressing towards the back of the house, sometimes between bodies twined together tightly as they undulate to the techno-grind wailing through the speakers.

Sick. She is _sick_ with fear.

“Aw, are you lost, little baby?” a female one coos at her from where she hangs off her mate. Her crystal eyes rove over Rey’s body, lingering on the blood that flashes sticky-black in the roaming, strobing lights. She reaches out to touch Rey’s hair.

Rey shrieks and trips backwards, pinwheeling painfully into a pair of males that are-

_Nope. Don’t look. Keep moving…_

More bloodsuckers notice her with detached curiosity, no doubt drawn by the scent of blood. Her heart throbs in time with the music, but a sound from the front of the house propels her forward. It is the sharp _crack_ of wet, snapping bone and the dull _thawp_ of flesh hitting flesh.

“He’s coming,” she rasps, catching her next desperate fall on the lapel of some bloodsucker and dragging herself into his face by the silk-smooth fabric. “He’s coming…”

He sneers coolly and flicks her away.

The creatures are sidling and sauntering towards the noise now near the bar, in singles and small cliques, more tacitly amused than concerned. They are not a clan-animal, the night crawlers, they do not swarm when their pack is attacked. Which is exactly wrong, because the only way to stop an Alpha like Kylo is with numbers.

Or-

_“Papa?” she looked up from her missy-doll, a Barbie with an evening gown and matted blonde hair, into the face of her aging Alpha. Papa Skywalker was a gnarled old thing, with a grizzled face and missing fingers. But his clear blue eyes were infinitely kind. “Wassa dragon-layah?”_

_“Dragon Lair,” he sounded out for her, “It’s a place, ladybug.”_

_He hunkered down behind her and pointed with his intact hand over her shoulder, southeast. “See those lights, the red ones up in the sky?”_

_She wrinkled her nose and squinted down the barrel of his index finger. “The winkin’ ones?”_

_“Yup. Those are towers, and that’s where the Lair is. A city called Los Angeles. And the Dragon? It’s not like one from a fairytale. It’s a man- well, a creature. A crawler, we call ‘em.”_

_“He lives alone?” she frowned._

_Papa chuckled. “No, sweet lady. With his family.”_

_“Oh.” Turning so that they were nearly nose-to-nose, she twisted missy-doll’s hair around her pinky and whispered so that the Dragon couldn’t hear, “Is ‘e really dang’rous?”_

_“Oh yes. Very.”_

_“Why?” even quieter, as the tip of her little finger turned white._

_“Because, a long time ago, when there were different stars in the sky, he pushed our kind out here into the desert. Hoping we’d all die.”_

_“Oh.” She stared down at her pinky until it started to throb. “But how come the Alphas didden kill him? Don’t they always kill bad monsters?”_

_He sighed._

_“Well, ladybug,” he took her tiny waist between his hands, thumbs overlapping on her little rounded belly. His voice shook slightly, a sound she’d never heard from him before._

_Fear._

_“The Dragon killed them all.”_

She shoulders through a set of heavy double-doors and fuck-fumbles into a long, quiet hall that stretches out in either direction the width of the building. It is nearly silent and well-lit by wall sconces and table lamps reflected into gilt mirrors, a vicious contrast to the pulsing, flashing club. The doors soft-close behind her, their hydraulic hinges hissing with pressure as they seal off all sound from the front of the house.

Her tremors are so violent she can hardly stay standing. Blood runs in thin, tickling rivulets down the inside of her jean-leg, she feels it follow the curve of her calf and leech into her boot to soak her sock. Swaying, she gulps back a retch and looks both ways at the multiplying doors.

_Which one which one which-_

“Pardon moi.”

How, _how_ the fuck did she miss the two creatures lounging further down on her left?

They each rake her body with curious, colorless leers before exchanging feral grins.

“May we ‘elp you, mon petite?” asks one with a courtly little bow.

“Where is he?” she lurches towards them, hysterical now as her face crumbles and she succumbs to a desperate sob. She is beyond fearing these crawlers, when Kylo Ren is _right behind her._ “Where’s the Dragon-”

“Le dragon?”

The double-doors tear off their hinges and burst into the wall behind her. She screams and throws herself forward as suddenly, the crawlers seem to wink out of existence.

“ _Rey-”_

To the soundtrack of a brutal struggle, she lopes as fast as she can for the largest door. Kylo’s baying shakes the hall, a body collides with something and a mirror falls and shatters, throwing glass as far as in front of her. One of the creatures lets out a sound like she’s never heard before, similar to the scream of a jaguar but a thousand times more terrifying. It makes her gut churn, until a wet _snap_ that follows next blanks out her mind.

_Hurry hurry hurry baby hurry hurry now!_

At last, she staggers back two steps and kicks in the paneled door with the last flicker of her strength, sprawling inward with the momentum of its swing onto the floor.

She falls at the Dragon’s feet.

Through the terror that swims in and around her, she strains up on juddering arms until she can drag her face from the lush carpet to look up at-

Oh. Oh. _Oh._

He is _massive._

Towering above her, he seems to span meters tall. His skin is perfect, smooth-planed and bleach-bone white. Grey shadows darken the deep hollows of his gaunt cheeks and shade the wells beneath his eyes. His hair is like no color she’s ever seen before, slicked down to his skull and burning in the lights of the brass chandelier hanging above them that wreaths him like a crown of thorns. His lips are pale, reddened at the seam where they touch, he is dressed totally in sleek, regal black except for the cream-colored pleated cuffs and collar that frame his long, elegant hands and the graceful column of his neck.

But his eyes-

They are not colorless and crystalline like the others’. They’re a cool, clear-water blue. Just like-

“Papa,” she whispers. Her heart stops beating, and the world winds down.

What was she running from, again? She cannot remember, as a warmth like nothing she’s ever known before suffuses her body, drowning out the cold in rushing, sloshing torrents of sensual flame. It is a sweet burn, it fills her to bursting with adoring ache as his image etches itself onto her soul.

_Imprinted._

“Alpha,” she sighs. She is floating now, on tender sparkling waves. She feels totally at peace.

She feels absolutely stoned.

His lips quirk, this beautiful, terrible, hideous, handsomest creature casting its cold shadow over her. Her life-mate. Father of her pups.

He raises one perfect eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

But before she can tell him, _I love you, Alpha,_ she realizes-

Someone at the doorway is _howling._

It’s Kylo Ren.

“No! NO!”


	2. I said, Get the fuck off my lawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's ever longed for Kylo Ren to take a *righteous* beating, well-
> 
> *raises Solo cup*
> 
> This one's for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the tags, Becky. Becky, read the tags.

“My my my.”

The Dragon folds elegantly at the waist, seeming to fall forever to her in slow motion from his great height. Light from the chandelier above moves in bands over his copper hair and ripples across his long black duster held closed by brocade clasps, revealing a tone-on-tone jacquard pattern hidden in the fabric. She can see more clearly the translucent quality to his eyes. It’s as if she is looking into the sun through topaz. His scent is unlike any she’s ever smelled before. Because he has no scent. Not really. Just a subtle cologne laced with the barest hint of something acrid and smoldering. Like the end of an unlit match. And she smells-

_Silver._

Yes, her Alpha _reeks_ of pure metal silver.

 _Thank God,_ is all she can think as she sinks into exhausted relief. _Thank fuckin’ God._

He can kill Kylo Ren.

“How did you get in here, little one? Hm?” his voice is perfect, deep and feather-soft. With that tender tone a man uses to speak to tiny children, or to coax an uncertain kitten out from under the sofa.

“Do _not_ touch that girl, crawler. Or I swear to God-” someone is bearing down on a snarl.

But who could it be? There is nobody in the whole world but her and her Dragon.

His pleated cuff rustles quietly as he reaches to tuck a tendril of long, filthy hair behind her ear. His touch is smooth against her flushed cheek. Mesmerizingly cold.

“Such a long way from home,” he seems to speak directly into her ear, even though he hangs above and in front of her. “Are you lost, angel?”

Time slows down as she turns her chin to nuzzle his hand. Her heart is beating everywhere, under every inch of her skin, she is aware she is softly panting only because the shallow seesaw of air dries out her mouth. Her lashes droop. She has never felt more peaceful. More fully alive.

“No,” she blinks, and realizes her eyes are wet. “I- I was… looking… for you. Alpha…”

“That is _not_ your Alpha-”

Honestly, who is talking?

Her Alpha’s lush, pale lips coil in a smile. It reminds her of gilamonsters and bedtime stories and smoke winding up from the tip of Papa’s cigarettes. Her belly coils too, the strange sensation of love and fear and want.

Her cunt gulps suddenly.

Oh. _Oh._ She is really wet.

“Looking for me? I’m flattered,” he shakes his head slowly, entrancingly, and chides, “But you are not supposed to be here, little one.”

She snorts, a sleepy, giddy sound. _Silly Alpha._

She lies down in the palm of his hand. “Course I am.”

“That’s _enough!_ ”

There it is again, that menacing, spoiled snarl. But _where_ is it coming from?

Maybe she doesn’t care. She is so tired…

Her eyes flutter open. Her cheek is no longer in her Alpha’s hand, but resting on the back of her own curled over the immaculate toe of his boot. He is not folded over, as he was, but standing impossibly tall, reaching like a spire of black jacquard and porcelain to touch the chandelier’s kaleidoscope heart. His cool, clear eyes aren’t on her anymore. They’re looking at-

She glances over the slope of her shoulder.

 _Oh yeah._ Kylo Ren.

 _That’s_ what she was running from.

As if she’s on her hands and knees peering down at pebbles in the bottom of a whispering stream, she finds her fear again. Submerged but real.

Should she reach for it? She doesn’t want to fall in.

Papa Skywalker will scold her for getting her dress dirty.

“That bitch, belongs to _me_ ,” the wolf is absolutely ravening, dark mane wild, the whites of his eyes totally eclipsed by red. His thick, lewd lips shine with spit. His pale, rough-hewn face is flushed. A sickening bulge strains the crotch of his black jeans. It seems to snatch for her.

She flinches closer to her Alpha.

“I _won her._ Give her to me. _Now._ ”

There is a tidal shift in the energy of the room, as if gravity is a current the direction of which her Alpha can change on a whim.

“Ah yes,” like the long white legs of a creeping spider, his fingers work down the clasps of his duster. Surgical. Precise.

Her lashes flicker as she watches. She wants him to touch her.

_Touch, Alpha. Touch…_

“I seem to recall your savage customs,” he’s saying. Though steel-edged, his diction is immaculate and calm. “The rape and pillage of women and young children once you’ve murdered their patriarch in front of them. Remind me, what is it you call this little ceremony?”

In one smooth, elegant motion, the Dragon shrugs out of his dark jacquard duster and folds it neatly over his arm.

“Oh yes- the _reaping_. A fitting name for the bloodsport of barbarous cowards, I should think.”

She hardly hears him though, because her breath catches at the same time Ren’s lips splice back over his teeth.

Her Alpha is _covered_ in silver.

Fine chains of it crisscross over his waistcoat fashioned out of the same fabric of his duster, even more of them drape down his chest, visible through the loose laces of his shirt. An ornate jewel-hilted dagger decorates his belt, the buckle of which is also pure silver, a pair of intertwining snakes with rubies for fangs and diamond eyes. And there is something else too, in a leather loop beside the dagger’s scabbard. Cylindrical and short with a tapered end. It’s made completely of silver, including the top, which is the detailed head of a-

_Dragon._

She is so stunned by it all that she almost – _almost_ – misses the richly embossed leather holsters slung discreetly over his shoulders. Each of them holds just under his arms against his ribs two ornately-carved curled pistol butts that are like no guns she’s ever seen before.

“Flintlocks, eighteenth century,” he tells her when he catches her staring.

She can _smell_ the silver hollow-points inside them, and the acrid stench of Ren’s fear bleeding through reek of his rut as her Alpha takes one out to show her.

“Quite a marvel for its time. The spring-mechanism in its trigger-plate, especially,” he angles the pistol in his hand so that she can see the exposed mechanics more clearly. “Would you like to see how it works?”

In the span between beats of her rabbit-heart, he thumbs back the hammer and fires.

Ren’s baleful scream splits her brain apart. He clutches his hip and stumbles back snarling into the hallway. Catching himself on the wall, he beats the wound with his fist and howls like a rabid dog.

“What do you think, do you like it?” her Alpha’s tone is still coolly conversational as he re-holsters the gun. But there is a malicious revel in its undertow that makes her want to lie on her back and spread her thighs for him.

 _Power._ She wants all of it inside her _._ Hopefully now.

She holds perfectly still as he reaches down and lifts her very delicately from the floor, as if she is filled with feathers and not bones four times denser than any average human’s. He settles her on top of his desk and braces his hands on either side of her.

He smiles, all flirtation and razor fangs. “I shall buy you a pair just like them, if you like. Without the silver trigger, obviously.”

Kylo is still screaming in the hallway.

“Pearl handles, perhaps? Or ivory. I’ll let you decide.”

His voice, how does he do that with his voice? Make it come from within her own mind. Like he’s been in her thoughts this whole time.

“Alpha,” she whispers, closing her eyes and leaning up and in as she reaches to curl her little fingers inside his shirt collar.

Accidentally, her knuckle brushes one of the chains of silver around his neck.

Oh shit, it _burns._

She whimpers, peeling open her eyes and wincing back.

“Forgive me,” already, he has her hand in his. Her skin looks dark and grubby against his smooth, elegant white.

She’s ashamed of herself, but he doesn’t seem to care at all as he lifts her knuckles to his lips.

Her belly clenches. She makes a mewling sound that has nothing to do with her hand.

“You see, I was not expecting…” he loses his train of thought somewhere in her eyes, large and glassine under the lights of the chandelier.

Despite its desperate fatigue, her heart gnaws at her ribs to meet him.

Kylo snarls and slathers as he tries pushing himself up the wall.

Her Alpha smirks as he scolds himself, “One thing at a time, Armitage.”

With paternal tenderness, he gathers her knees in the crook of his arm and lifts her wholly up onto his desk.

The very few things he had on top scatter over the edge and thud to the floor. The wood is too hard really, it digs painfully into her good hip. But he clicks his tongue soothingly when she tries to sit up.

“There-there, angel. Lie down and close your tired eyes. You should not see what comes next.”

Something black and ominous slips through her gut. But the feeling is a hundred floors below her. She is looking down at it over the railing as her eyes fall shut.

She is so, so tired.

 _Ladybug, do what Alpha tells you,_ her precious Papa chides her from the grave.

She folds her hands beneath her cheek and lays her head down, not caring if her beaded bracelets dig their little impressions.

Carefully, he unfolds his duster still laid over his arm and drapes it over her body so that the outer dual-toned fabric touches her skin and its lining faces out.

It’s like he laid a sheet of stone over her. With tremendous effort, she cricks her neck to see the thousands pinpricks of light twinkling over her body like black waters reflecting back the stars.

The duster is lined completely in silver chainmail.

_Holy fuckin’ fuck._

“There,” he tucks it in around her, “That should keep the dogs from biting.”

As if he cannot help himself, he pauses to ghost his hand along her body over the mail, following the hills and valleys of her profile.

She wishes to God she were a little cleaner for him. A little prettier. Better fed-

Her insecurities evaporate when he whispers one word to himself.

“Lovely.”

Her eyes drift shut.

Suddenly, his lips are right over her ear. _“Sleep now.”_

She absolutely does.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She wakes sometime later. Sensing dawn.

The office is silent and completely dark. Her Alpha must have switched off the lights before he left.

_Her Alpha._

She stretches her arms over her head and smiles.

The imprint feels different when he’s not so near. Less… drugging. Less intense.

She pictures him, his blazing hair and blue eyes. The gland in her neck throbs. She whimpers like somebody’s pitiful little bitch.

Okay, so maybe it’s not _that_ much less intense _-_

_Wait._

Her heart rams her ribs like an animal startled awake in its cage.

Where the _fuck_ is Kylo Ren?

A flash of Papa Skywalker standing inside the reaping circle under a still blue sky flashes back to her. Then Kylo tearing out his throat. Blood spattering the sand.

Has Ren killed her Alpha, too? Is that why he’s not back yet?

The tips of her fingers tingle with adrenaline. She claps a hand over her terrified sob.

Oh God oh God _oh God,_ she has to get up and save him. She has to save him _now_.

She struggles against her covers, as heavy as a full grown wolf lying on top of her, then stills immediately when she remembers why.

 _Silver mail_.

As weak as she is, if she thrashes and gets trapped under the wrong side, this amount of pure silver would be lethal.

 _Wait for Alpha,_ her instincts plead with her. _Alpha will come back-_

Yeah, fuck that.

Everything hurts, everything’s sore, but that doesn’t stop her. She isn’t strong enough to lift it off herself directly – she’s only an omega, and a small one at that – so she works her hands under the breast and strains until there is enough of a gap to fishtail her body side-to-side. She uses her elbows, trembling from the effort and exhaustion, to direct the duster towards the edge of the desk, praying at some point gravity will kick in and do the rest.

Eventually it does, dragging the last of it over her hip so that the whole garment slithers rattling to the floor.

She flops back to catch her breath. The strength of four humans, she couldn’t pick that thing back up if she tried.

How the hell does he wear it and _walk_?

“Alright,” she coaxes herself, breath shaking. With the heel of her hand braced on the desk beneath her, she tries to sit up. “Alright. You can do this. Easy upsy dai-”

At the site where her shattered hip has begun to heal, the bone grinds with an audible _click-click_.

“Shi-fuck me, fuck- ‘kay go slower, slower.”

By some early Christmas miracle, she manages to sit up.

Quaking, nauseous and clammy, she fishes through her front button pocket of her denim jacket for a lighter. She has to use both hands clamped tightly to her chest to switch it on.

It casts a pathetically small amount of light around the room.

But she needs a weapon. And if it doubles as a crutch? Well-

Sue her.

There’s a chair in the corner, high-backed, upholstered. Like something out of a period movie. Definitely antique. So definitely solid. Its long legs end in clubbed feet.

_Perfect._

 

 

 

 

 

A few agonizing minutes later, she manages to pick apart the lock on the door with a letter open she took from the desk and drag herself out into the warm, light-washed hall.

The opener is also pure silver, she could tell by the way her skin sizzled when she touched it with just the tip of her finger. Not a problem after she ripped off the bottom of her thin camisole and wrapped up her left hand.

Poor Papa would faint at her bare belly. But desperate times and all.

The leg of the chair isn’t long enough to lean on, and it’s heavy as anything, so she keeps it propped up on her shoulder as she staggers to the wall for support. She also took one of the largest splinters from the wreck that is the rest of the antique chair and tucked it in the front waist of her jeans as a stake. Its butt end digs into her below her ribs, but who cares? She’s in a nest of night crawlers, and if Kylo has killed her Dragon-

“Keep it the fuck together, yeah?” she huffs through another heartbroken sob.

_You don’t know he’s dead, you don’t know he’s dead-_

The hallway at least is totally empty. That’s no small blessing, she needs all the time she can get to screw up her courage as she shambles brokenly for the double-doors that lead back to the club floor, shoulder trailing the wall.

“You’re a big brave bitch, Rey. You’re a big brave bitch-” her breath warbles, tears tremble off her lashes and patter wet-hot onto her cheeks. But she repeats it like a _left-right_ mantra to encourage her pitiful, limping march. “You’re a big brave bitch-”

Her ears strain to pick up any sound from the other side of the wall, but the insulation is thick, and the only thing she hears is a dull, staccato _thump_.

A bass, maybe? Is the techno still on?

As she draws closer to the heavy soundproof doors in the center of the hallway, it becomes accompanied by another sound.

Laughter.

But who would be laughing? The vampires?

Maybe Kylo Ren is gone.

She consults the chintz pattern in the carpet.

Nothing. No advice.

_Only one way to find out, Rey._

Her heart is in her throat as she steels herself to turn the handles to the doors.

They glide open effortlessly on their hydraulic hinges, bringing her face-to-face with the club.

The strobes are all off, at least. Only the dancefloor is lit by the static, white-bright house lights that run in tracks along the exposed beams. There is no more music, just that steady, rhythmic _shhhh-whamp!_ _shhhh-whamp!_ sound, the source of which she cannot see.

Instinctively though, it makes her sick.

All the vampires are circled in the shadowed perimeter around the center of the house.

They stand in cliques around tables and loll in velvet armchairs and fainting couches someone brought out for them to the dance floor. Men and women all dressed in their strangely provocative outfits, sipping God-knows-what from champagne flutes and fanning themselves with lace and feathers and painted rice paper with rich tassels and beaded tails. A few of them laugh uncontrollably, hiding their hysteria behind their fans or their gloves. Others cackle briefly or snigger, while some wearing cruel-lipped smiles lean close to each other and whisper as cash in every denomination imaginable changes between their leather- and satin-gloved hands.

All the while, their mirrored, colorless eyes flicker inside the dark.

This scene is like nothing she’s ever seen before, and it terrifies her. It twists her gut and makes her judder with fear. She can sense their cold malice coiled thickly around them, a void where their humanity should be. That smell like the strike-end of a match hangs in the air, along with the heady, rancid scents of musk and urine and blood.

“Ah-ah-ah, smarten up there,” the voice of her Dragon rises above the titters and caws of the crowd, “No sniveling, boy-”

The tension inside her screws loose as her shoulders sag. She claps a hand over a relieved sob.

“You wanted to play Alpha-dog, and now you’ll take your licks like one.”

_Shhhh-WHAPP!_

The loud, sudden crack followed by a sharp, piercing shriek surprises her.

She jumps, the hand on her mouth doesn’t smother her startled scream well enough.

Still, the crowd takes their time, glancing only half-curious at her over their shoulders and from behind their fans. A murmur ripples through them, gleefully mocking in tone.

Belatedly, as if it is the most egregious inconvenience, they part for her.

What she sees at the center of the dancefloor makes her drop her club. It lands with a hollow thwack on the concrete.

_Is that-_

Kylo Ren, stripped naked and suspended from the ceiling, bound at hands and feet with silver chain.

His skin sizzles, burning off at the contact point. He revolves slowly, like a skinned animal on a spit, the front of him drenched in oily sweat, cock still red and pitifully distended from his rut which he cannot control. His long hair, once dark and soft as raven feathers, is plastered stranded to his face. One of his eyes is swollen shut, every line in his face is creased with pain.

Blood oozes from the entrance wound on his hip and runs down his leg to drip off between his toes.

The chain turns slowly, revealing the dark hair under his arms sparkling in sweat that continues down the deep muscular contours of his body, until-

“Oh my fucking God…”

The letter opener in her left hand clatters to the floor.

She falls to her knees and covers her gag with both hands.

_Shit fuck what the bleeding fuck-_

His back is whipped to shit.

“Ah, look who’s come to join us.”

It is the Dragon, standing beside Kylo beneath the white house-lights, so pale his skin glows, hair turned pure gold. He’s lost his dark waistcoat, wearing just his trousers and dress shirt with its pleated high collar. The sleeves are rolled neatly to his elbows, the thick blue-corded veins in his forearms flex as calmly, methodically, he gathers up the slack in a bullwhip into yawning, even loops.

Its silver-toothed tip leaves a thin, dashed trail of blood on the floor.

He takes in her club, or rather the claw-footed leg of his armchair, her stake tucked into her waistband, and the silver letter opener.

And smiles.

Through the bright and shadows, across the distance, their eyes meet. “Well well. Quite the little slayer, I see.”

“I thought, maybe you was in trouble so… I was like, comin’ to um,” she swallows, “rescue you? Or something, I dunno-”

She flinches back from the deafening peals of hyena-laughter.

They all die out at the lift of his hand.

“That was very kind of you,” his tone is murmuring, tender and sincere. Like her Papa’s whenever she brought his sandwiches dripping at the seams with jam.

“Yeah well, I missed you. I woke up and you weren’t there-” she can feel her heart beat in her throat, her breaths shudder in and out. To her horror, she starts to cry.

It isn’t her fault, though. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be _alone._ She’s an omega, a clan-creature. She’s not supposed to be alone-

“Look there-”

His sudden snarl makes her want to curl into a ball.

Mid-revolution, he’s snatched Kylo by the maw. His gloved hand wrings Kylo’s jaw so hard it pops.

“Do you see her? Do you see the little girl you’ve _won_?” A vicious shake rattles the chain all the way up to the rafters.

The club is pin-drop silent.

“Why don’t you come down and rape her now, you filthy brute. Go on then, come down and _claim her_. No? Hmm,” he tisks, “What a shame. And here I thought you were an Alpha. Pathetic.”

He spits.

It lands on Kylo’s face.

“Just like your grandsire.”

From their regal repose on the sidelines, the vampires snicker and sway their fans.

Rey feels like she’s going to retch, from the stench and the gore and the _shock_. From the sheer raw animus inside this room.

She is surrounded by monsters, murderers and ghouls. She misses her Papa, her trundle bed next to his in their trailer on lot forty-four. She misses the Joshua trees and gilamonsters and the endless blue desert-sky. She misses her pack, Kaydel and Finn and Poe. She wants- she wants to go home.

But she can’t, because Kylo Ren killed them all.

She covers her ears to drown out the screams and rocks.

_No no I wanna go home I wanna go home Papa come take me home-_

“Hush. Do not weep, child. He cannot hurt you now,” is it her Alpha, crouched elegantly with one knee on the floor in front of her.

She winces away from him, so afraid of everything, and screws her eyes shut tighter, shaking her head. It’s too much _too much too much too much-_

“You don’t u-understah-hand-”

_He killed my Papa. He killed everything-_

“Oh but I do, my angel. I do,” his long fingers, ungloved and pristine, lift her chin.

Those eyes. Her Papa’s eyes.

“I understand _perfectly._ And I know how to ease your pain. _”_

Each syllable strikes a different spot along her spine, making her tremor with sensation. Her gut twists tighter, she wants to curl away and to climb into him and to scream and to kiss him everywhere-

He stands, towering over her like the spire of a sepulcher, offering her his ungloved hand.

“Come,” his voice is right there. Between her ribs. He looks deeply into her. “Let me show you, little one. How to do what is right.”

There it is again. That feeling of falling forever into love. Down down down she goes.

Even as she takes his hand. And rises.

Like night jasmine unfurling their petals, one-by-one, the curiously amused crowd peels back from their path. Their slow motion draws her and her Dragon inward. To the panting, trembling wolf spinning slowly at their center. Flesh quivering, sizzling wherever he touches his silver binds, he turns like the macabre centerpiece of a music box.

The first man she’s ever seen truly naked.

She doesn’t look directly at him, because his wounds scare her, and because she is afraid to look him in the eyes.

Even trussed up like this, he terrifies her. His horrible, brute size-

“Do not be afraid,” behind her, her Alpha speaks directly into her ear. His arms fall around her, as white as angel wings, and enfold her. He holds her cradled to his body and rests his chin over her shoulder.

His cool lips touch her cheek.

Kylo snarls and writhes.

Her Dragon smirks back at him and whispers, “See how helpless he is? How fragile? Do mind your step, my dove. He’s pissed himself twice.”

She glances at the floor. And looks away quickly before she gags.

“Pathetic creature, wouldn’t you say? I think…” he peers around her. She turns her cheek so that their eyes meet, “He looks like your bitch. Yes, he rather does.”

Something rushing and warm and sickly-sweet trickles through her. Thicker than blood, it coats her insides like tar.

_Love._

“Alpha,” she sighs, and presses a tentative kiss to his lips.

He nuzzles back at the tip of her nose.

Kylo bleats and struggles.

“Rey,” he growls through his teeth, stained in their seams by his blood, “get away from him, _Rey-”_

Her Alpha stretches out his hand and snaps his fingers. A pair of leather gloves appears within his palm.

He hands them to her, helps her find her tiny fingers into each individual slot.

Their insides are cool and dry.

She lifts them to her face and inhales deeply. There it is again, that match-stick smell. Suddenly, she recognizes what it is.

_Sulfur._

“Rey,” with his revolution almost slowed to a stop, Kylo looks through the sweat-slick strands of his hair and begs her, “Get out of here. _Run_.”

“Why?” her voice trembles, but she will not be afraid of him anymore. She will not.

Tears drip down from his lashes and quiver along his jaw. “They’re going to kill you, sweethe-”

“There now,” her Dragon presses something thick and weighted into her palm. “Let’s finish this, shall we? Then we can go home.”

He draws her hair, fallen listing from her buns, off her shoulder. Her lashes flutter at the touch of his nose to her neck. “Would you like that, angel? If I took you home?”

_Home._

Kylo closes his eyes as she smiles breathlessly and sobs. “ _Yes_! Yes, I want to go home. Please can we go, Alpha, please?”

“Of course,” his cool blue eyes crease tenderly at the corners as they trace all the features of her face. The crowd fades away from them, and it is only her and her Alpha standing with this beast under the lights. “Now, where shall we mark him, hm? Somewhere everyone shall see. How about…”

He guides her trembling hand to point the tip of the blade to Kylo’s brow, above his left eye. The silver sears his skin, the scent of salty sweat and cauterized flesh curling up from the touchpoint like smoke. Kylo winches but does not open his eyes.

“Here?” she asks.

“Oh yes. That will do very nicely,” her Alpha praises in her ear. The sensation tickles in her belly and in her toes. Gently, with his big, steady hand wrapped around her small, shaking one, they draw the knife. “Let the world see what he is. A failure. Yes, there we are. Ah-ah, slowly-”

It parts Kylo’s skin like flame to tissue paper. He grunts and chuffs through gritted teeth, bearing back against a scream.

“Slowly, my dear. Even pressure. That’s it, we want it nice and deep. So that the wound never heals.”

“ _Never_ ,” her mouth trembles. She digs the blade into his cheek and bares her little teeth, “You killed my Papa-”

“Tell him what he is.”

“You’re nothing,” she spits. Tears wash out her world until her hand shakes too hard to hold the knife. It falls clattering onto the floor as she hisses again, “You’re _nothing.”_

The wound is long and deep, curving across his face. Blood sieves slowly through the rent, branded flesh.

His eyes, lightless and ever-dark, slit open.

“We’ll see.”

Before her legs give out, before the lights all dim around and inside her, her Alpha sweeps her up into his arms.

 _It’s just like a fairytale_ , she tells herself, as grief and exhaustion overtake her.

All the bad parts are over, and she and her prince are going to ride off into the sunset. To mate and to mount and to live in big, beautiful castle. A… big… beautiful…

“Take him back to the desert,” her Alpha’s voice rumbles against her cheek laid sweetly on his chest, “I want him dragged through the valley, so that the others may see. Make it a spectacle. Then bury him at the top of the foothills. Alive.”

_Alive? No, wait-_

“N-no,” she strains to open her eyes. But they will not obey her. “You ha… have to k…”

_You have to kill him._

“Shhh. Hush now, you’re very tired.”

The rhythmic sway of her body with her Dragons footsteps, like the sound of his voice, lulls her to peace. She floats down, down to the bottom of the ocean.

But not before she glimpses the dark shadow that sweeps above.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yadda yadda yadda, Alphas feuding families backstories blah blah-
> 
> Now we can get to the porn. Thank GOD.
> 
> <3


	3. Interlude with a vampire...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father's perspective. Out with the old, in with the new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What - did you think he was a *single* gorgeous rich vampire-Dom?
> 
> Girlfriend. This ain't Twilight. C'mon.

By the time they reach the manor, it is nearly dawn.

His estate is a languid three-story villa on several acres set in the foothills of Dana Point. Its balconies and white-column colonnade overlook the small, undulating side streets that weave away from PCH, past the black rock beaches of Doheny, out to where the slate-colored Pacific meets the sky.

His driver, a dark-skinned Sikh vampire in a richly embroidered tunic and blue silk turban, drawls his black sedan through the gates and up a long, winding driveway just as the sun forces its first pale kiss on horizon. Even through his dark round-lens glasses and the extreme tint on the sedan’s windows, the light sears Armitage’s eyes. But he hardly notices.

He is consumed with the little stray inside his lap.

She is still asleep, poor thing. Exhausted from her grief and the pursuit of that rabid cur. Her hair, he notices, is almost matted by filth, the skin of her hands and face is grime-streaked and badly chapped by wind and sun. She looks as if she’s been living on the streets for weeks.

 _Still_ , he thinks as he studies her features, she is an exceptional creature, all warm blood and lion-heart. Long dark lashes. Round, rosy cheeks. A small button nose. Pink lips and eyes like a porcelain doll’s. A childish beauty.

Exactly his taste.

Slowly, with exceeding tenderness, his long, elegant fingers slip a lock of hair from her cheek behind her ear. He recalls with stirring clarity the way she looked at him from the floor of his club. As if he is her savior, and not the immortal who thrashed her ancestors from his city like chaff.

 _Dragon,_ she called him. Achingly. Adoringly. While staring up at him with those big, wet, beautiful eyes. _Alpha._

He strokes her cheek and smiles, thinking of all the ways he’ll teach her to say his name.

Inside the garage, his driver waits for the wide, windowless door to seal fully behind them before he climbs gracefully from the sedan.

“Father,” he opens the backseat to the cold, bright, synthetic light.

_Ah. Much better._

“Thank you, Jaskar.” Carefully, ever so carefully, Armitage unfolds with his precious new pet cradled safely in his arms.

“Is Drina inside?” he asks, still scribing her sweet little face into his heart where she lays pressed to his chest.

The driver’s expression remains impassive as he proceeds them to the door that opens into the south-facing portion of the manor. “She is, Father.”

 _Ah well,_ Armitage thinks as he glides smoothly through the corridor.

His consorts were bound to find out sooner, rather than later. 

Tittle-tattle travels quickly in their circles. 

“This shall be your new home, little one,” he whispers, wending them slowly through rooms between furniture on his way to the front foyer. Later, when she is awake and well-rested, he will take her room-by-room and let her sift through their delights.

Unlike most of its neighbors, his home was commissioned in the Spanish mission style, with many separate rooms and long corridors, rather than the open, airy spaces of the modern monstrosities dotting the foothills that surround them. Tastefully lavish arrangements of rare paintings and ornate plaster moldings and chair rails and lighted recesses adorned with bronzed and marbled statues overwhelm the walls. Large Grecian columns with filigreed caps on either side of every doorway lead one room into the next, where each long, arched leaded window is draped in layer after layer of silks, damasks and brocade velvets to stem the deathly peer of the sun.

Yet in all the rooms on every smooth surface, nature riots in full-bloom, as vases of all sizes and silhouettes overflow with rich plumes of peacock feathers and flowers from his own vast gardens crawling wantonly up the hills behind the villa. Blossoms of every kind, but roses most particularly. In dusky pinks and crimsons and scarlets, butter yellows and creamy whites.

He is exceedingly partial to roses.

It is one of the few details of his mother that he can still recall. She wore a rose always, tucked between her breasts or slipped into her hair.

“We shall find your favorite flower as well, my sweet,” he tells his little darling in a sensual, conspiratorial whisper, tilting her so that her sleeping face is near a lush bouquet set on a round rosewood table at the base of the grand three-story stairs. “Peonies, I daresay. Or perhaps dahlias would be-”

“ _Amrie_.”

It is Alexandrina, his supreme consort.

She is standing at the wrought iron banister of the topmost landing of the double-staircase, glowering down at his ascent. Wearing one of the gowns he commissioned for her, a delicate champagne brocade and ivory satin bodice, she is a vision. Beautiful and delectably feminine. Her long dark hair is just how he prefers it, in loose, glossy waves falling past her shoulders down to her waist.

She purses her pale lips to one side and turns over and over inside her hand her little painted silk fan. A trinket he purchased for her while basking in the revels of the people’s revolution in China. Its jade-bead tail clinks softly, rhythmically, against the ironwork.

Oh yes, she is very annoyed with him.

“Good morning, my sweet companion,” he calls to her with gentle irony. Like her love of chamber music and pillbox hats, he fell out of her affections over half a century ago. A fact that, only a few hours ago, made him deeply sad, when he considered how they used to make love in the ocean at night and dance unceasingly together beneath the stars.

Now though, his beautiful German girl gives his rolled shirt sleeves and mussed hairstyle a distinctly dispassionate once-over and sneers, “You’re disheveled. I heard zhat you fought wiz a dog.”

_How quickly the salacious word travels._

“He was nothing, a pup who ran out of bounds. I returned him to the valley.”

She raises her chin and points with her fan to the wolfling he is bearing tenderly up the stairs. “And vhat is _zat_?”

“It is a gift for you, my Drina,” he teases. On the lush oriental carpet of the first landing, he stalls. “An answer to your repining for a pet.”

She snorts. “I vhanted a white Persian cat, not a filzy mischling.”

“Beggars cannot be choosers, my dear.”

Her fan snaps open with a dramatic, fluttery click, revealing a small female crane dipping gracefully to feed herself among the sheltering reeds. A metaphor he meant with all his heart the night he gave it to her.

One she spurned as she grew contemptuous of his love.

She hides her nose behind its pleated edge and grimaces.

“It _rrreeks_.”

He gives her a slow, paternal smile that reveals his gleaming fangs. “They tend to, yes.”

“So?” she demands, “Vhat are you going to do wiz it, Armitage?”

Gold-colored light washing down from the opulent tiered chandelier strikes through his eyes as he lifts them to meets hers exactly. They appear electric in a way that makes her step back.

“What do you imagine I will do with her,” he asks softly.

Emotions sweep over her face like shadows. Outrage passing to indignation to disgust. She snaps up her fan and aims it like a dagger at his heart.

“ _You,”_ she seethes, showing him her little fangs, “you cannot keep zhat filthy sing in zhis house! It is _contaminated_ , Armitage. It is _vile._ ” She flings her arm at the tremendous wood and wrought iron entryway behind him. _“_ Take it outside and break its neck.”

Her foot stamps, heel softened by carpet. “ _Now!”_

For a moment, the world around them seems to stop spinning and go very still.

In his mind’s eye, he can still see the little girl who stopped him by his coattails beneath a gas-lamp on the cobbled streets of Cologne to beg for bread. _“Bitte, herr. Ich bin so hungrig…”_

“My darling Drina,” his voice is full of tender mercy. Yet deadly soft. “Whom do you think you’re talking to?”

He does not wait for her answer. He resumes his measured pursuit up the stairs of his house.

“ _Du bastard,_ ” she hisses, mouth trembling.

“Careful, sweet one,” his tone is mistakably light, “I made you. I may also unmake you-”

She steps back as he reaches the last step that brings them level on the third landing. Her large, colorless are shining. They flicker from his cool gaze to the girl in his arms and back.  

“Please do not ever forget that,” he tells her quietly, when finally they are standing not three feet apart.

“Sank you, _Father_ , for reminding me,” she snarls. Tears race each other like children down her cheeks. She slaps them away. “Now should I go to live on zee streets?”

“Not at all,” he soothes her gently. “This is your home, Drina. You are always welcome here, and you shall always be looked after. Whether you choose to share my bed or not. You need never go anywhere else.”

“Until _you_ are zhe one zhat is replaced,” she hisses.

He lifts his chin.

“Vhen Phasma kills you, vee vhill all have nowhere to go.”

_Darling Drina. You always know just where to slip the knife._

It is his own fault, he thinks with great sadness.

He has spoiled her.

His steel stare reveals nothing of the danger roiling behind his ribs. “Pray that day never comes, my dear.”

She huffs hatefully, breathlessly, and whirls away from him in a silken rustle, moving quickly down the hallway to the room she took when she could not longer stand to share his coffin.

Later, when he is alone with a snifter and his thoughts, he can consider the amalgam of emotions he feels watching her walk away from his two hundred years of devotion. Grief and betrayal. Anger. Yet love, warm and familial. Resignation and regret.

Now, however, he desires to tend to the tender wolfling knitting herself back together as she sleeps soundly inside his arms.

_A new beginning._

“Rose,” he calls out softly into the house.

Moments later, the girl appears, dressed in one of her sweet lace frocks with a pink satin sash. Through the translucent silk of her stockings, he can glimpse her brightly painted toes.

“Yes, Father?” she chirps, dancing to him on the balls of her feet with her hands clasped impishly behind her. As usual, she is ecstatic to see her sire.

“I trust you have behaved yourself?” he asks, knowing her answer by heart.

“No, Father,” she chimes as she stands on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. She peers eagerly at the wolf-pup in his arms. “Ooo, pretty!”

Her colorless eyes ignite and glow bright. “May I eat her?”

“No, treasure,” he chides, “this one is not to be bitten. She has the virus. You would become very sick.”

“Ooh,” she flinches back, but can hardly contain her wonder.

As if showing off a darling newborn, he tips so that she may see more clearly his little girl.

“So she’s a puppy,” her fingertip taps her lips as she thinks, “Does that mean… I get to play with her?”

His lips quirk. He knows just what his Rose means by _play._

It was only after he turned her that he discovered her preference for female companions, though she is always willing and enthusiastic when he calls her to his bed. Her appetites are as debauched as they are bottomless, and he is happy to indulge her.

“Perhaps, if she is inclined” he gives her a mock-suspicious glance out of the corners of his eyes, “and you are _well-behaved_.”

Her giggle charms the foyer.

“Do be a treat for me, my dear, and draw her a bath. A cool one. And set a stool inside my shower. I should like to rinse away a bit of this blood and…” he eyes the dried tracks of sweat and road dust that streak his little bundle, “unsavoriness from her first.”

Rose nods dutifully, large loops of her hair bow bobbling as he continues to list off, “- a pair of shears, a medical kit, if we have one. I doubt we do but please look. And one of your dresses, if you would be so kind. Blue, I should think.”

His eyes trace tenderly his little pet’s precious features. “Something sweet.”

Rose hops in a circle and claps, “A pup-py, a pup-py, I get a pup-py, a pretty pretty pup-py!”

“Rose…” he drawls patiently.

“Yes, going Father!”

His reserved, elegant stride follows her delighted little revel down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand *now* we can get to the sex. Thank you very much.


	4. Come is thicker than water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FI NA LY! Let's get this sex-pet party started!
> 
> Angelfish. Sweetcakes. Honey bee. Cuddle buns. Read... those fucking... tags. Please and thank you.

_“Wake…”_

Bit by bit, she becomes conscious.

It’s like her soul is sieving back into her body, the way her awareness floats back to her in soft greyscale building up to color. Silent scenes project like fragments of stop-motion on the backs of her flickering lids.

 _The reaping._ Her papa lying dead inside the circle, his kind face a crush of red, wet flesh, dark blood seeping down into the thirsty dust all around his body. Screaming and screaming more. Her desperate escape from Antelope Valley, Kylo Ren running her down through the backstreets of Los Angeles. The vampire club, flashing eyes and sharp-tipped sneers. And then-

_The Dragon._

Her eyes flutter open.

The large room is soft-lit all around by lamps like she’s never seen before. Some with brass bases and painted globe shades and fluted mouths, others standing gracefully on long resin stands with dark pleated shades dripping crystal trim that color and scatter their diffused light. They transform him sitting in an ornate upholstered chair set alongside her into something even more beautiful and other-worldly than she remembers. Smooth skin glowing white-gold at its peaks, hair turned a deeper, more vivid vermillion. Dark wells beneath his eyes reminding her of deathly valleys. And his eyes-

They are studying her intensely, wonderingly, in the low light that makes them darker, like opal backlit by firelight. A deeper, more sensual blue.

“Alpha,” she whispers, lifting her hand that feels heavy from her long, dreamless sleep. Her cuts have healed, the tips of her small fingers touch his cheek and trail delicately over the feathery edges of his long, gold lashes.

“There is no alpha here, child,” he tells her, before he turns to press his soft, cool lips to the inside of her wrist. He is dressed in just his white, high-collared shirt and dark slacks.

_No silver._

“Tell me, my angel,” his eyes trace the features of her face, down to her little breasts rising and falling with her shallow pant, “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes,” she breathes, as her cunt clenches warmly. _His voice…_

It’s not at all like the gritty, nasal snarl of other Alphas. It’s much finer, much _deeper_. Like velvet sliding sensually over bare skin. Like dark quartz stone hanging smooth and heavy around her neck.

She wants to pull the duvet back and spread her thighs.

The seat moans softly as he shift closer and takes her fingers mapping his face into his hand. Ungloved, it is fine-boned and perfectly cold.

Just like she remembers.

The memory of him helping her mark Kylo Ren is eclipsed when he starts to kiss the pads of her little fingers, watching for her reaction.

She stares at his lips and pants faster.

_Sex._

She’s never done it before. She has no idea how it’s supposed to start.

But her heart bumping like a trap-bass inside her chest begs her to _try._ Her blood buzzes in her breasts and in her belly and in the tips of her feet, she flushes so hot she feels it in her cheeks as she struggles up softly through the rustling layers of rich bedsheet and lavish, heavy brocade duvet, still holding his hand.

She’s tangled in some sort of… dress. Delicate sky blue lace and a sapphire sash tied with a bow beneath her breasts. Her hair has been washed and brushed smooth, bound back into a high tail by another satin ribbon. There are sheer stockings on her feet up to her mid-thigh that whisper sweetly as they slip against the sheets, and-

_Oh._

The soft lips of her sex rub together as finally she sits back amongst the nest of bedding on her stockinged heels.

She isn’t wearing any panties.

Her knees meet the very edge of the bed so that their faces are level, she’s so close she can feel his cool breath on her mouth as his eyes trail down her body.

“Perfection.”

A strong contraction deep in her belly makes her slick gush hot out of her grasping little opening. It dribbles out between her folds and smears the soft insides of her thighs, slippery and warm when she rubs them together.

She whimpers and her Alpha hisses trough his teeth. His lip twitches warningly, hinting long eyeteeth by their glinting tips. His eyes are fixed greedily on her sex.

_Please your Alpha._

Her heart flutters. Slowly, without over-thinking, she bites her lip and draws the lace hem of her dress over her thighs, up her belly, past its little button, to show him her pussy.

Her smooth pink folds and the tender insides of her thighs glisten in the warm bath of light.

“My my,” he breathes, unblinking. His gaze transforms, turning liquid and bright. Like lightning living inside his eyes.

When they draw slowly up to meet hers, her slick rushes more.

“Is that your little cunny?”

“Yeah,” she whispers shyly, unable to look away from his eyes. She thinks she sees her soul swirling inside them, disappearing into their dark depths. Her lip trembles. She can’t breathe for how much she loves him.

The corners of his mouth coil in a slow motion smile that makes her heart fast-forward. “Mm. And to whom does it belong?”

Her lashes flicker. It takes her a second to understand what he’s asking, no one talks like that where she’s from. So elegant and grammarly. But when she does, her throat squeezes. She puts her hands on his shoulders to rise up a little higher and then takes his face between them. “You, Dragon. I always belong to you.”

_You’re my everything now._

His cool, delicate touch sweeps the ends of her long, glossy hair back from her neck. His eyes glimmer in the lamplight. “And would you call me by my name, if I gave it to you?”

“I’d call you anything,” she promises earnestly as she shifts even closer to the edge of the bed. Her stockings whisper across the pattern of the duvet, she winds her arms around his neck as her heart rushes to its cage to meet him. Their chests kiss. Lace rasps sweetly over her little pebbled nipples, making her mew.

His hands holding her naked hips beneath the bunch of her dress circle softly into the nearly-healed skin from her impact with the car. Time seems to wind down for them as he looks deep into her eyes.

“ _Armitage_.”

It’s unlike any name she’s ever heard before. Its sound brands itself on her soul.

“Ah- Ahm-ih-tage,” she tries as they coordinate their motions. She leans forward and spreads her thighs as he lifts and settles her in his lap.

Her feet dangle without touching the floor on either side. Something cool and hard presses up at her cunt through his slacks. She knows it’s his cock, just the shape of it through his slacks, smooth except for the ridged lace of his fly, makes her drunk on want.

This is what she was made for. As an omega. As a girl.

Pleasing her Alpha.

His neck bends gracefully and he kisses her, long and slow and deep.

Her first _real_ kiss.

She threads her fingers through his slicked down hair and gives it everything she’s got. All the moves from the R-rated movies she snuck-watched while her papa was out, all the times she practiced on her stuffed animals and her pillow and her hand. She _goes for it._

He smiles into their kiss.

One of his big hands slips around her nape and tilts, changing their angle so that their lips slot together without a prick of light between them. The other reaches around and cups her bare bum beneath her dress, making her gasp. His cool tongue slips neatly into her mouth.

One long, tapered finger chases her slick crease, teasing the nervous flesh without parting it. His tongue slides deeper, touching the tight case of her throat and delving down.

On reflex, she swallows, then whimpers as he’s drawn in, soft enough not to trigger a gag, but still thick and sensual, totally foreign. He withdraws, changes slowly the angle of their kiss with lips touching, and slides into her again, stroking those sensitive surfaces of her palate and her tongue as his eyeteeth caress like a tender threat at her lips and tap lightly against her teeth. All the while, his cold hand behind her teases the hot length of her seam with soft, feathery touch.

She quakes, overwhelmed, held delicately captive, unable to surface from this sensual dream. Her cunt gulps pitifully at each stroke of his tongue timed with the upward glide of his fingertips through her slit. She drools hot, fragrant slick between his fingers and all over his lap.

 _Armitage,_ her blood sings, _Armitage…_

Their lips peel apart with a soft, sensual sound.

He smirks down into her dazed, unseeing gaze, her hands curled in the soft front of his shirt, her wet lips kiss-swollen and parted. His fingers trace her sex, smearing her slip all over her small folds, her mound, through her crease.

“Ahm’tage,” she breathes up at him. Prayerfully. Worshipfully.

“Yes,” his smile coils with tenderness. “What shall I call you, my pet?”

“Rey-baby,” she says without hesitation. She feels like she’s floating, like she’s drifting under cool blue-green water dappled by fractured sunlight.

She feels like she’s just been born.

His fingers not pleasing her cunt trail softly over her cheek. “ _Rey_. Baby.”

Her head tips back, lashes fluttering shut.

There, she can die happy. Her Alpha has said her name.

His fingertips follow the graceful swell of her throat to trace the little curves of her breasts through her dress. “I want to make love to you, Rey. My baby. Sweetest little girl-”

The shadows shift, changing the way the lights paint the backs of her lids as he dips and kisses everywhere his touch has been. Between her thighs, his fingers slip into her soaked, swollen folds splayed open and tease the raw, ready flesh of her cunt.

She _moans_ , open-mouthed.

He kisses her throat, lips moving expertly around her mating gland burning hot beneath her skin. Though they could not be more different species, he seems to know the gland’s exact purpose, because he draws it deep into his cool mouth and worries it tenderly between his fangs as he suckles, pulling blood and pheromones to its surface in a violent rush.

She bucks and shrieks, “Alpha!”

His smile makes its imprint on her neck as his soft hum ghosts like mist over her wet skin. She shivers in his lap.

With a wet, succulent sound, he lets loose her gland and presses his slick lips to the shell of her ear. His hand follows the small, rounded shape of her breast and slides up around her throat to cup her nape, catching her from falling, as, at her other pole, his thickest, middle finger presses at her innocence.

“Won’t you call me Armitage?” he murmurs straight into her. His words wind slow and smooth down her spine. “It would please me so, my Rey.”

Her brow creases in sweet concern as sensation sweeps up through her body like clouds moving fast over the blue desert sky.

“Ahm- Ahm’tage,” she bleats as he breaches her, sliding in to his thick second-knuckle. Her cunt gulps and she goes so perfectly still, desperate and wanting and afraid.

“Good girl,” his praise slips down inside her and settles softly in her belly, calming her. His thumb and forefinger span the back of her neck, working small knots of pleasure with their mesmerizing pressure. “I want to make love to you until the end of time.”

She whimpers.

The light that paints the backs of her eyelids shifts again, darkening as his face eclipses all. He kisses her, another slow, languid kiss that parts her for his heavy tongue to reach down her throat. His finger inside her works at her swollen, sensitive walls, while his thumbs begins to worry back and forth over her little pearl of pleasure, like the tock of a metronome.

She moans into his mouth.

Her thighs ache where they’re draped over his, stockinged feet hanging limp, too heavy to lift, toes pointed towards the floor. Her breasts thrum with want as her belly clenches. His touch is so good but it’s not _enough-_

_Fuck, Alpha. Fuck…_

“Don’t worry, angel,” he murmurs against her cheek when their lips peel apart again. His voice is so deep and dulcet, it’s as if he’s speaking from the ache inside her chest. “I have every intention of _fucking_ you-”

Some part of her realizes from an ocean away, _He can read my mind_.

“Oh yes. And I have wanted to _fuck you_ from the moment I saw you. Since you fell at my feet like a little suckling lamb. I wanted to take you right there on the floor, in front of that _dog,_ on your hands and knees as _they do-_ ”

She keens picturing it, her eyes moving behind her closed lids as her cunt knits around his finger stroking at some needy, greedy place in her soft wall.

“The things I shall do to this little body. _Child-”_ his hand wrings her nape until she opens her eyes.

His face is in shadow, haloed softly in warm watercolor light. His lips peel back over his teeth, revealing his long, deathly fangs.

“I’m going to _eat you alive_.”

“Uhn...” she pants up at him, mouth open, shuddering and glistening in a fine gloss of sweat. Just from his kisses. Just from his touch. Her slick gushes, soaking his hand in hot, syrupy wet.

He is so, so beautiful.

_Alpha._

“I am no Alpha, girl,” his blue eyes flash like lightning that jumps bodies and grounds inside her gut. “I am their reckoning. I am monster beneath their children’s beds-”

His eyes trail tenderly over her face. “And I am your master. You belong to me, now. And _nothing_ shall save you. Not your precious _clan._ Not _Kylo Ren-”_

She moans, nodding frantic, fighting the shutting of her eyes as his touch continues to stoke her and his words build low in her belly like the roil of thunder. Her thighs shake and tingle. She takes his face between her juddering hands.

His expression is a dark mixture of sympathy and threat. “You have damned yourself, girl. I pity you, truly. But I shall not let you go.”

“Don’t-” she shakes her head, whole body quaking as electric sensation swells out from his fast-fucking finger to swallow her whole. She presses loud, desperate kisses to his lips, “don’t lemme go… never, never lemme go-”

He kisses her so deeply it’s like he draws out her soul.

She comes harder than she ever has in her life on her Alpha’s lap, shuddering and stuttering through a sob that he drinks down in greedy gulps as he stands and spreads her on the bed.

Her hands twist in his blouse, unwilling to let go as he tries to rise over her. She follows his mouth, lifting off the duvet as she chases his kiss with her lips and her little pink tongue. Her thighs climb his hips, ankles locking behind him at the small of his back. She’s not letting this man get away from her, not for a single second.

They’ll have to take him from her cold, dead hands.

With a lion snarl, he rips the blue lace from her young body.

His violence shocks and ignites her, fearful hunger roaring foaming and electric through her blood as simultaneously, she spreads her thighs wide and cups her sex and hides her breasts behind her forearm. Her stockinged thighs dangle helplessly over the bed, she is trembling so violently her breath stutters as it saws softly through her lips.

He is standing above her, pale lips pulled back over his fangs, tip of his tongue pacing slowly the edge of his teeth between them. Malevolent devotion dances with the white flames in his clear blue eyes, he seems to relish her fear, even as he falls in slow-motion to brace himself above her, bodies close but not touching, the fabric of his shirt pulled loose from his slacks bowing away from him to whisper coolly along her naked belly. Crimson strands of his hair hang down into his eyes and glow gold in the shafts of lamplight that slip between them.

He takes her throat in his hand and tips her chin to kiss her.

She cannot move as his tongue glides into her mouth.

He kisses her languidly, as if he has all the time in the world to love her, to burn her body down to ash from the heat lashing through her belly and her breasts. On their own, her hands judder up through the pale light still slanting through the space between them to cling to his arms.

The flex of his long, hard muscles makes her pussy clench. She chases his retreat with her tongue touching tentatively between his fangs.

“Good girl,” he praises murmuring before he dips down to suckle at her neck.

Her head lolls, she pants unseeingly out at the room, legs too heavy to move as she moans, “ _Uhhn…_ ”

She’s so wet it soaks the duvet in fast-cooling warmth beneath her bum. Her thighs glisten, and still her cunt gulps and dribbles new slip between its little folds as he suckles pleasure to her surface.

“Oh-huh _ahn_ …” her stockings whisper as she scrambles at his hips with her calves.

“Such a sweet little creature. So beautiful,” he speaks directly into her ear, making her heart thrill and her blood rush tingling through every part of her, “so small. Running all alone through the big bad night, no papa to protect you-”

Her breath catches. The rims of her flickering lashes feel wet as his hands slide down her body to grip her hips. Slowly, deathly slow, he grinds her bare sex up against the lace of his fly.

 _“Don’t cry, my treasure,”_ his voice unravels like cool silk from that still, small place at the base of her skull, _“My baby, Rey. Papa is here now.”_

“Papa…” she whispers. Before she can tell up from down, or find her hands through the fog of sensation, he cups her breast and bows lower to take her nipple between his lush lips.

 _Yes_ , echoes like a croon through her mind. His mouth is so cool, even colder towards the back of his throat, and she is so, so hot. His teeth graze her without pressure, drawing the tip of his fangs over her peak to spike pleasure through her breast that mirrors the rough, rasping sensation of his laces against her clit. She closes her eyes and tips her head back, so close to coming again.

_Oh God oh God it’s coming oh God…_

His lips curl against her breast in a reptile smile, _So come, my sweet. Come for me now._

Her body locks and she shudders, breath hitched and juddering, hot tears slipping down her round cheeks as she comes.

Pleasure floods her, jolting and warm, washing through her belly and down her limbs, tingling in her fingers and the tips of her toes. She stares open-mouthed and unseeing at the ceiling, shoulders touching the duvet, hips hanging from his huge, gentle grip. Panting shallow.

Her heart beats so fast and so hard she’s afraid it will stop.

“There now,” his tone is like a sugar poison, blooming inside her belly as nightshade unfurls at moon, “don’t we feel better now, Rey? _My baby_ -”

“Yes, Ahm’tage,” she whispers weakly. She feels more peaceful than she ever has, precious and small, like a pearl nestled in a cruel-fisted palm. Nothing can touch her now, except for her Alpha.

_Touch, Alpha, touch…_

“You have no idea, my pet, how much I am going to _touch you_ ,” a quiet rustle, and then a hush as fabric falls to the floor, “until you no longer know your own name.”

Her hands slide through the silky ends of her ponytail rippling around her shoulders and along the smooth pattern of the duvet. The torn lace of her dress caresses sensually at her back. Sleepily, she realizes she is no longer listing limp from his grasp.

She forces her fluttering lids to open and finds him through the hazy light. When she does, her breath slips away.

He is completely nude.

She flushes down to the tips of her breasts.

He is so… _unnatural._ Long and hard, perfect and marble-white _. Elegant_. Her eyes follow shyly the line of his sternum, between smooth, defined pectorals, down to his-

“Oh,” she breathes. Her blush deepens.

He lilts his chin and smirks.

He’s only the second man she’s seen naked, she can’t help but the notice the difference in his cock from the only other Alpha’s she’s glimpsed. It’s not red and tapered, like Kylo Ren’s. It doesn’t distend from a short, fat sheath near its root.

It is a long, solid column of flesh, as big around as her wrist and jutting from a smooth nest of shockingly red hair that trails back to his pale, muscular naval. Blue, vicious-looking veins etch themselves along its shaft, a heavy sac hangs down beneath its thick base.

There is no knot.

_How is he supposed to give her pups?_

She chews her lip, discovering yet _another_ problem as he steps up to the edge of the bed and lets her measure his cool, fat length against her belly. From where his big sac knocks lightly at her entrace, the flared head of his cock reaches past her belly button.

There’s _no way_ he’ll fit inside.

He seems to notice the same fact, but rather than worry him, he stares down at his length jutting along her belly with a predatory gleam in his cool-colored eyes.

He looks _pleased._

“Such a little pussy,” he praises as one of his big hands cups her cunt. He squeezes softly, relishing the wet, succulent sound it makes as her hot slip gushes between his fingers and coats his palm.

She moans in aching distress.

“However shall I fit?” he teases quietly. Slowly, with eyes fixed, he splays her apart.

His breath hisses through his fangs, his cock hanging hard and heavy over her belly jumps.

Through the lazy drip of her pleasure, fear roils in like fog.

But she can’t go back to the desert. She needs to stay here, with her Alpha. She has to _belong._

She swallows her anxiety and whimpers, “Please-”

His eyes meet her through the warm lamplight. Cool, and cautious. Hurting.

“Please what, my angel?” he whispers. His fingertips trail down her body, feather-soft. “Tell me.”

_See? Alpha won’t hurt you. He loves you._

_“Be good for Alpha, ladybird,”_ her papa murmurs from the grave. His blue eyes seem so sad.

“Please-” her mouth trembles, she reaches for him, as a child raises her hands to be picked up. Calling him to her. To be good to her. “Please m- make l-love to me… please, Ahm’tage-”

“Oh my darling,” he’s like living stone as he moves over her, gathering her up in his arms and kissing her deeply. The shock of his cool, bare body against her burning one makes her gasp into his mouth. Through her hands pressed to his chest, she feels no heartbeat.

_He’s a monster._

The thought overwhelms her as he drags her warm thigh up his hip and drapes their bodies together over the center of the bed. His cock lays like the threat of battering ram over her slit, her small folds splay as wide as they can around his girth. Lightly, he saws his hips, giving her beautiful sensation each time his veined length slides over her needy, grasping opening and her clit. His slow, searching kisses douse her flickering doubt, she winds her arms around his neck and wraps her legs around him as something warm and beckoning coils around her mind.

_Be a good girl, Rey. Baby. Please your Alpha._

Whose voice it is – his or her wolf’s – she cannot tell as he reaches between their bellies and grasps the root of his cock.

Everything is floating away from her, reason beyond her reach where she’s drifting with his kiss on the ocean floor. His thick, flared head drags through her slit, trailing cool, smooth sensation and her own broiling slick. She whimpers into his mouth.

As he positions himself at her innocence, an image of Kylo’s face shimmers in the dark, faraway waters. He’s screaming silently for her to run. She laughs at him, a breathless, gloating sound.

Until her mouth opens and her face contorts. Her eyes pinch shut.

Her Alpha covers her scream with his hand.

“Shh-shh-shh, be still, small one, be still,” his whisper in her ear tries to soothe her, but it’s rasping and choked, “ah-ah, don’t struggle. It will only make it worse-”

Hot, ripping sensation spikes through her, as terror so purely distilled pours through her body like water tipped from an open jar. Pain radiates out from her tender insides as he splits her into two.

She sobs into his palm.

“Shhh, _my baby_ _,”_ he dapples her skin in soft, lingering kisses that do nothing to distract her from the unbearable, burning, endless ache.

She just wants him to _stop-_

_Not right this isn’t right this isn’t how it should be-_

“It only aches the first time,” he promises. His tone is mournful, but his hips continue to press until he rips all the way down to her womb.

She kicks out against the tearing feeling. Her raw walls crush against his length, trying to close back up. But his girth keeps her cruelly parted, split open on his cock. Her hands push hard at his shoulders, her body shakes helplessly where the rest of him is pressed to her like a tender caress.

“I know, angel,” he croons as his body begins to move. The hot slice of him inside her is unbearable, his flared crown and mean veins rankle her tender, hurting walls. His hand leaves her mouth, trailing thin gossamer strands of spit back to her lips. He wraps her up in his arms and kisses her tears from her lashes, her cheeks, her chin. “I know…”

She cries and cries, eyes clenched and open-mouthed, as he fucks her faster.

The sliding sensations overwhelm her. She loses her sense of time in the pistoning of his hips. The moon still in its infant cycle seems to hang over her, she can see it so clearly above his shoulder as she begins to pant and growl and whimper like a pup pinned down by its neck.

Even with the moon so far from fullness, her wolf comes to lie with her in the comforting haze of her hind-brain. It laps soothingly with its dark, long tongue.

_Be a good bitch and lie still for Alpha. That’s it, that’s the way. Let Alpha take what he wants._

The sudden, wet grind of his pelvis to hers makes her gasp and snap-shudder. Behind her slackening lids, her eyes roll. The air leaves her lungs in a hot, whining huff.

_Tell him. Tell Alpha what you want. Good Alpha wants to please his bitch._

“Too fast,” she pants, gulping and gasping as her hands slip in their own sweat along his marble back, “T-too fa-hast…”

His tempo slows down to an aching, rankling drag. He nuzzles her neck and paints the skin there with fat strokes of his tongue. “Better, my baby?”

His voice makes her quake. She nods, frenetic.

It still hurts _so much,_ but there’s something sweet buried deep beneath the jagged bitter…

 _Pleasure,_ she realizes, as his mouth finds the gland in her throat. He grinds his hips again.

Her back arches, letting him sink even deeper inside her hot little cunt. “ _Uhhn….”_

He takes her gland between his teeth and digs his fangs without piercing.

Her breath snares. Hot, thick slick coats his cock, making her squelch obscenely when he returns to her. _He_ groans, a dark rumbling purr like the growl of a lion when he mounts his queen. His arm beneath her ass tilts her, changing the angle of their meeting. She shudders and shrieks his name.

Her wolf circles her soft-brain, smirking.

_Good Dragon._

Head lolling in a haze of sensation, she fucks her hips back at him and moans, “F-faster…”

Like a slave, he rushes to obey.

The hard, heavy sluice of his cock through her tight little pussy is like a drug, dragging her aching to ecstasy’s mouth. It still hurts so much, but the ache is drifting down, settling like silt inside her belly to let the dancing ripples of fractured sunlight that is her building pleasure shine through the murk.

She pants and gasps and _cries out,_ pitched and feminine, with every one of his thrusts.

The rhythm of his body turns sacred, he worships her as he rocks rasping and snarling and hissing like a tiger around her throbbing mating gland. His balls slap wetly against her ass, his drool dribbles down her neck onto the bed.

Dimly, she recognizes the smell weaving through her thick scent and his own sulfur musk. It tastes like pennies on her tongue.

_Blood._

Her Alpha is in frenzy.

Her wolf lies down and tucks its chin into its tail, smug.

“ _Ahm’tage!”_

He’s fucking her so furiously, holding her captive by his arms crushed around her and her gland between his fangs. Each hard stroke strikes the mouth of her womb and reverberates through her. All she can do is take it. It hurts and it’s killing her and she loves it. She loves it so _fucking_ much.

Her orgasm beats in her belly like a second heart as she tempts her fate.

“H-harder…”

He bears down on her gland and slams himself in to the root of his big, marble cock. Over and over and over-

Her head tips back. Her ribs reach for the sky.

“Yes, oh God _yes_ , Ahm’tage _yes!”_

Her thighs ache from shaking, her tendons strain painfully up through her neck. Her eyes water, her face turns red. Her mouth opens in silent screaming.

She stops breathing as she comes.

Her gland slips from his mouth with a wet _pop_ , pussy squelching loudly in the gush of slick that follows her orgasm. His tempo slows down, strokes more languid, more merciful, as he draws out her pleasure with soft, nuzzling kisses and long, smooth drags of his cock.

_Heaven._

Her wolf closes its eyes.

Sensation sparkles out through her body as she lets her hands slide from his back so she can circle her fingertip around the pebbled peak of her breast. She smiles, savoring the gentle tingle. Through her drooping lids, beneath a veil of lashes damp from her tears, her sated gaze roams the room.

For a split heartbeat, she thinks she sees a girl halfway hidden by the cracked-open door. Her silk fan flashes a little water bird before it snaps shut. Her large, doll eyes flash like silver scales twisting in the sunlight before she disappears.

But before Rey can ask her if she’s real, her Alpha arches over her. He is still fucking her to the steady, agonizing beat he prefers as he takes her hands and laces their fingers together. His mouth is swollen, lips reddened and wet from spit.

He presses their threaded hands into the duvet by her head.

“You,” he pants, staring down into her eyes, “have the most perfect little cunt.”

She smiles drunkenly into his kiss as he dips to give her. It unravels slowly into another of his long, rapturous kisses that make the world spin away.

She shakes beneath him. Her poor little pussy is so sore, but he shows no signs of fatigue. Rather, he seems as though he’s just woken from a restful sleep. His blue eyes glow bright, deadened cheeks touched by the barest flush. His cock pumping solid and heavy inside her has warmed to her temperature, the beautiful swath of bright hair at its base glitters in her slick.

Love has always hurt her, ever since the day she was born. When her parents found out their baby daughter had the virus and took her to the desolate California desert to dump her. When Kylo Ren drew a circle in the red dust with his knife and killed the only father she’d ever known inside of it. Beat him to death with his bare hands while she watched screaming.

Love has only ever hurt.

But _this_ ache, the sharpness dulling to something stretched out and sore, is so much more bearable. It’s beautiful, compared to the life she lived before.

She sinks herself deeper into the duvet and lets her knees fall open to him, lets her fingers wander through his hair and along his cheeks and down his back flexing strongly as they trade kisses and whispers in the warm-washing light.

_Harder yes faster like that I love you so beautiful give it me baby Ahm’tage my love…_

His long, beautiful body slides smoothly through her sweat as he fucks her and fucks her more.

She closes her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is such a beautiful outlet for all my ridiculous bodice ripper impulses. 
> 
> Whatta we doin' next, folks? The world is our smutty oyster. I'm thinking a fuck-tathalon, followed by a bitch fight of epic proportions, followed promptly by more fucking. 
> 
> Thoughts?


	5. Fucked and drank all night...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porn. Kinks. So many kinks. All of the porn. 
> 
> Seriously guys. This fic is... it's just porn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pastel, leaning on the corner before this fic with her hands in the pockets of a Stranger Danger trench coat: Psst, you. Yeah yo, you. Come 'ere and read my tags...

She dreams about the trailer in Antelope Valley.

It’s late-April, she knows because there’s still half a basket’s worth of Easter candy on top of the fridge. It doesn’t get so hot yet inside the trailer that Papa can’t ground her from the pool or from his garage with its huge shop fans and small AC unit in his back office.

And she’s definitely grounded. _Again._

Over nothing. Over piercing her belly button with a safety pin.

She should have waited until she was _at_ Kaydel’s before she knotted her tight black spaghetti-strap shirt to show off her belly. Papa Skywalker busted her before she was halfway across the yard.

 _“Where you goin’, Miss Hot-to-trot?”_ his deep, smoke-gruff voice right over her shoulder made her jump and shriek out. _“And what in the_ hell _did you do to your stomach, Rey?”_

Busted.

 _“Alphas don’t like sluts, ladybird,”_ he’d scolded scathingly as he marched her back inside with his big paw clamped around her scruff. He sat her down on the barstool, cussing softly below his breath as his hard, brutal hands worked tenderly the small hoop earring she’d improvised out of her tummy.

Because _that’s_ what her whole stupid life was about.

Being whatever Alphas like.

Her breath hiccups. Where she’s slouched over the fold-down Formica countertop inside their tiny kitchenette, she circles her hips. Searching. Something’s pulsing low in her belly like a second heartbeat. An itch she can’t quite-

She bites her lip and whimpers, “Oh…”

It’s past noon, she can tell from the way her sweat pours down her scalp to soak her neck and her dark camisole, still knotted at her waist to show off her smooth, barely-rounded belly, tanned from living at the pool while Papa’s at work. It makes the red band of her thong panties she shoplifted from the Pick n’ Save a damper, deeper red where she’s pulled them up over her bony little hips past the waist of her jean shorts. It soaks the undersides of her breasts and puddles in the backs of her knees.

It makes her wrist and forearm slip against her bare skin where her little hand is down the front of her shorts, fingering her slit.

“Oh _God_ …”

She grips the lip of the counter and lays her forehead down on the cool Formica, hot breath condensing under her mouth as she wriggles around the pinewood barstool and works her swollen clit in tight, fast loops. Her fly’s open, her small knuckles stretch out the red crotch of her thong panties until the fabric’s almost sheer. The slick sound of her pussy and of her panting fills the trailer. Over it, she hears the _burr_ of the swamp fan over Papa’s bed in the back of the trailer, she hears the mean caw of desert birds and her own heart beating in her ears.

And something else. A low, sweet-sinister murmur. Smooth like the hush of a snake slithering between stones.

_“- such a soft, sweet little cunny shhh, don’t wake yet pretty girl, Papa just wants to taste -”_

Behind her lids painted orange by the bright sun bleeding through her trailer’s small windows, her eyes twitch and roll. Her lashes flicker.

She’s so, _so_ close to coming. But…

The old screen door to the trailer moans open. She jolts, but can’t stop touching herself as a man steps inside.

Miles tall. Skin as white as Moon Mother’s. As white as bones. Hair slicked back and burning like oil on top of the ocean set on fire. Dressed all in sleek, smooth black.

She squeezes the counter and comes choking and shuddering, pruned fingertips stuttering over her plump, sore clit. Hips bucking so hard the stool legs chirp against the peeling vinyl floor.

Just from looking at him.

_Him._

Her little wolf lies down and shows him its belly. It turns its snout and offers him its neck.

_Alpha._

Her fingers slow down but still trace mercilessly around her clit, chasing the electric licks of her pleasure with fissuring aftershocks. Her thighs quake, belly hurting so much from clenching. She isn’t strong enough to drag herself up off the counter.

The scent of sweat and sticky-wet pussy drenches the air inside the baking trailer. Beneath it, she smells a spark of something dark and metal.

Like the strike of a match.

She mewls pathetically, still trembling and touching herself, watching him watch her with his arms folded and his shoulder propped lazily against the open screen door. Even though the trailer is soaked in light, behind him, she can see outside it’s perfectly night. Moon Mother hangs low, heavy and pregnant just over his shoulder. She smiles in on her pup touching her slit inside her panties.

But Rey hears no howls.

 _“Because I killed them all,”_ the long man in the doorway murmurs. His lush, soft-looking mouth coils at one corner. His blue eyes spark inside the false twilight between day and night.

At their seams, his lips are so wet. So _red_.

She gushes and moans.

 _“Aren’t you going to invite me in, Rey?”_ he asks quietly.

She can’t answer, her mouth is too dry from panting, her belly twisting too tight.

When he steps inside without permission, her pussy gulps and swallows her fingers whole.

Her eyes roll, she surrenders to a full-bodied shudder as Armitage saunters closer, dragging with him like a shadow the cool cast of night. It eclipses her trailer, dousing the sunlight and bathing them in the smoky, blue-toned glow of the full moon.

He stops behind her, takes her small waist between his two hands, and lifts her. She hangs from his grip as though she weighs nothing, as lovingly he turns her over and drapes her over the Formica.

Her hand is still down her panties, fingers still fucking inside her pussy.

Slowly, savoring every inch of her skin revealed to him, he rolls her tight black camisole up over her little breasts and slides her jean shorts down her thick thighs. Along her calves, over her flexing ankles, taking her thong panties with them. Their crotch rasps slick, warm wet all down the inside of her leg.

He takes the backs of her knees in his big, cold hands. He lifts and parts her thighs.

Her back bows, ribs straining out to touch him, as her cunt closes and flutters around her fingers, so achingly, unbearably tight. So good. So _sore._

So, so sore…

 _“Exquisite,”_ he praises softly, before he steps in and dips to take one of her blush-tipped breasts inside his mouth.

She cries out.

His hands touch her everywhere as he draws deeply at her pebbled, overstimulated nipple. Trailing cool, hard touch. The backs of her knees stay slotted in the bend of his arms, holding her open, her swollen, sopping pussy completely exposed. Through the trailer door he left open, Moon Mother watches smiling. Her wolf stretches languidly then rolls over and lifts up its tail. Rey moans and shudders, watching through dreamy indigo waters as her Alpha paints her little shivering belly with his tongue.

She can still hear it, his voice whispering inside and all around her, even as he laps her belly button and doesn’t say a word.

_“- my my, what sweet dreams you have, you love this don’t you, when Papa kisses you in your sleep -“_

Over the quick rise and fall of her belly, through the valley of her breasts, their eyes meet.

Her fingers are still, _still_ fucking her cunt.

They slosh, quick and obscenely wet, as he lifts his head and smiles. That smile that makes her think of smoke and sin and death. Of his big marble cock moving inside her. Of her kissing it with her lips.

 _“Do you know,”_ his words spread out from his mouth like cool mist over her feverish skin, _“before the Alphas chained you to their stoves and to their beds, you used to dance naked for your goddess beneath the moon?”_

Her breath snares, she shudders as his long hand closes around her wrist and draws her fingers from her wet, aching little hole.

 _“I used to watch you from the shadows inside the shadows, stroking myself. I used to covet,”_ his enunciation shows his terrible, beautiful fangs, _“I have wanted one like you for so long...”_

He drags her pruned, slicked fingers to his maw.

The pleasure is unbearable, her tiny fingers drawn deep into his cool, fanged mouth. His thick tongue twines sensually between them. His thumb pets her slit, paying special attention to her throbbing, needy clit as with his other hand, he strums and tugs at her breasts.

She jerks and spasms, looking into his threatening eyes that reflect her moon back to her. Through their strange connection, he wills the crushing, coiling feeling in her low belly to wind tighter.

Her fingers slip slowly from his lips as she comes.

_“Oh-uhn!”_

He catches her quaking legs and lofts them over his strong shoulders. His head dips down between her thighs.

She wakes with a strangled gasp.

The first thing she notices is her rabbit-heartbeat, thudding quick and painful at her ribs, and then the slick, sliding sensation of her Alpha’s tongue along her-

She bows up, realizing with a gentle, smothered sort of hysteria that her hands are bound to the gilt wrought iron headboard by the blue satin that used to be the sash of her dress. Her body is quaking, shivering uncontrollably as if from hypothermia, she is _drenched_ in hot, slick sweat. Her thighs, thick and tanned and freckled, are slung over her Alpha’s pale, flexing shoulders. The warm glow of the lamps around the room are agnostic, she has no idea if it’s day or night, or how long she’s been asleep. She’s at the total mercy of her Alpha, but what wrings her panic most is his mouth on her-

On her-

No. No Alpha-wolf would ever do _that_.

Alphas don’t work to please their bitches. From the time they’re little girls, Omegas like her are told what their place is inside the clan. Keeping house and bearing children. Getting bent over and fucked whenever and wherever their Alpha wants it. On their knees, scrubbing floors and sucking cock.

What they get in return is protection. A pat on the head and a kiss on the cheek. Maybe a litter of strong, healthy pups.

But Omegas aren’t supposed to like fucking. They’re not allowed to touch themselves unless their Alpha is watching. And their Alphas don’t care if they come.

“Ahm-Ahm’tage,” she gasps stuttering, shaking, as she watches down the length of her sweat-drenched, shivering body him glide parting up her pink, swollen folds. Her slick milky-thick on his tongue.

His big, cold hands clamped around her waist squeeze her warningly. Still she squirms, feeling the dangerous press of his fangs on her sex.

With the tip of his wicked tongue, he bullies her little pearl hidden in its pink, throbbing nest.

Her hips buck. She _moans_.

“Please…”

He seals his lips over her hood and suckles deeply.

Her mouth drops open. She pants and stares down through the valley of her breasts over her trembling belly in glazed shock.

The pleasure he gives her is painful. She’s so sensitive, so wrung out that her tummy aches from clenching. She can’t lift her legs off his shoulders, she can’t feel her hands except for her heart beating in the tips of her fingers above the elegant knot in her sash.

He pins her struggle with his electric blue stare.

Unthinkably, she pictures suddenly him doing this to her on the Formica counter of her Papa’s trailer. This big, beautiful crawler, _the_ Dragon of Los Angeles, eating her sore little pussy in her Alpha-wolf’s den.

Her muscles tense, almost to the point of cramping. Her belly clamps down so hard it burns. Her face pinches, eyes nearly shut.

But she can’t look away from him as she strains and shudders and imagines and _comes_.

Her orgasm soaks him. Lying there convulsing and choking softly on her own pleasure, eyes rolling, she realizes vague for the first time that bed beneath her is _sopping wet_.

Through the sharp tang of her slick that thickens and stifles the air around them, threaded delicately through with his sulfur musk, she scents the blood from her broken innocence.

She tastes it on his lips as he rises over and covers her hitched, stuttered breathing with his mouth.

_Copper._

Her sin tastes like pennies on his tongue.

Like halves of the same luscious fruit, their bodies slip and align and seal together. Her soft brown thighs draped over his strong porcelain ones, their chests press together, his huge white cock sluices smoothly through the raw, gripping flesh of her cunt to kiss her womb.

“Oh God,” she moans, head lolling back on the pillow soaked in sweat and her own salt-scented tears, “Oh my fucking _God-”_

“You flatter me,” she _feels_ his smirk slide down her spine where his lips are pressed against her ear. The sound of his voice is pure heaven, “But I’ve told you Rey, _my baby-_ Call me Armitage.”

He dips down to sup on her swollen, throbbing gland.

Just the touch of his lush mouth makes her quake and clench him inside her.

Her poor, abused little pussy _burns._

“Ahm’tage, _please_ ,” she begs him, red-flushed and panicking as he begins to move inside her. Hard, slow, heavy thrusts that squelch and ache. She feels too full, too tender, “Please, I need a _break_ -”

“Mmm,” he nuzzles at her gland, making her eyes gloss over and her thighs drop open and her hips tilt to take him still deeper. “I don’t think so, little one.”

He rises over her. One long, strong arm locks beneath her, gripping firmly the cheek of her ass, as the opposite hand wraps around the gold-leafed wrought iron above the point where her wrists are bound. At his will, her hips cant even higher. She groans low in her throat as the fat head of his cock burrows all the way up under her ribs to kiss her heart.

Above her, his forearm flexes, showing off muscle and corded blue veins as he chokes up his grip. The first brutal connection of their sexes scatters sparks through her core like the kiss of a live wire to ungrounded metal. The white-hot shock makes her breath stop. She stares open-mouthed up into his eyes through the strands of his fire-colored hair.

_Dragon._

His second thrust rattles the bedframe.

“Oh God!” she shrieks. Her body bounces. She pants and whimpers like a pup.

“No…” he drawls, showing his fangs inside a deadly smile. Her eyes roll, breath choking as he fucks her again and again.

“What’s my name?”

She can’t- can’t remember…. She thinks once she saw a sunset, took a full breath, drank a glass of cool water. But that was a lifetime ago. When she was called-

“ _Rey,”_ this time, his hard stroke is time followed immediately by another, and another. Her little breasts jiggle helplessly, the headboard judders. Over and over, his big, fat cock fucks rapidly across that tight knot of pleasure tucked up in the swollen ceiling of her cunt.

“ _Say my name.”_

“Ah… Ahm’tage,” she remembers finally, lashes flickering, tears dripping, live lava boiling in her belly. She loses her grip on reality as his hips blur over hers.

“ _Good_ girl,” his praise makes her gush with fear-filled adoration, makes her pussy flutter and clench. He wrings the headboard and bares his fangs. “Good little pet. Say Papa’s name-”

“Ahm’tage…” she whimpers. God, he hurts _so good._

 _Lie still,_ her wolf whispers. It strokes soothingly along her bare skin with its silk-soft fur. _Bitch will heal. Let Alpha take what he needs. Let Alpha make pups._

Her cunt wrings even tighter. She exhales and goes softly still beneath him. Whimpering and moaning his name the way he wants.

“Ahm’tage… Ah- Ahm’tage… _Ahm’tage_ …”

Her wolf laps at her hind-brain, coaxing loose those knots of pain. _That’s it. That’s the way._

Her body floats, riding on the sensation of her Alpha using her for his pleasure. She loses time in the fast strikes of his cockhead against her womb and the thick, heavy sensation of his shaft fucking through her, dragging sparks of blinding pleasure against her walls.

Mouth dry, swallowing thickly, she looks up into his fierce, angular face to find him staring down at her, hooded and unblinking, watching every detail of her pain-pleasure flicker over her face through his bright bangs.

_So beautiful…_

“Thank you, Dragon,” she pants up at him softly, adoringly. Slurred. _Drunk._ “Thank you, Alpha. Ahm’tage-”

His wet, red lips curl into a devil’s smile. He dips and slips his long, cool tongue inside to taste her devastation.

“Such a good little bitch, Rey. Do you know how much you please your Papa?” her eyes roll and her body bows as his words wash her like baptism. She comes, whining and quivering. Just from his praise. “Do you want Papa to come in you Rey, _my baby?_ Do you want Papa to fill your little pussy with come?”

“Yes!” she strains desperately at her binds and tries to push her hips higher, to take him _even deeper_ as she whines, “Oh yes, Papa _please_ , please come in me. Papa I want your come-”

A vicious snarl transforms his face into something terrible, something gorgeous, like a living gargoyle that can never, never die. She closes her eyes as he swells and spears deep and holds.

He spills _roaring_.

Like a lion holding down his mare for breeding, he takes her gland between his fangs and keeps her perfectly still.

She shakes and shivers and whimpers as her cunt contracts tighter, gulping him down.

She wants all of it.

His come is unexpectedly, beautifully cold.

Her wolf sits up on its haunches, tail swishing and licking its chops as it ticks off the number of creamy loads he pumps deep into her greedy womb.

She slips floating into sweet-crackling dark.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Drink.”

It’s the voice of her Alpha, speaking low and gentle inside her ear.

She rubs her fists into her tired eyes.

 _Everything_ hurts.

Everything feels _so good._

He presses the cool rim of a glass to her lips.

Its contents taste sweet, thicker than water. Its aftertaste prickles her tongue and burns pleasantly at her throat raw from screaming.

_Fruit juice. Citrus._

“Drink more.”

She gulps, letting the overspill trickle down her chin and drip onto her naked breasts.

Her head lolls back when she’s finished, he catches it in his big, pale hand. She’s sitting up, she realizes. But she has no idea _where._

She doesn’t particularly care…

Her lashes try to flutter shut.

“Ah-ah, finish it,” he coaxes. His thumb strokes persuasively at her gland.

Suddenly, without meaning to, and without knowing _how_ exactly, her belly tickles and her pussy stings a lot. From seemingly miles away, she hears a tinkling sound. Like water tickling.

She whimpers and tries to close her legs.

“Shh-shh-shh, it’s alright, little one. Let me watch.”

Her eyes slit open. Her Alpha _is_ watching her, crouched down in front of her on the floor, shoring her tenderly with his arm. All around him, the tile is gleaming, blinding white.

She’s in a bathroom, maybe.

“Go to bed?” she croaks, once the sting eases up a little and the tinkling sound peters out.

Her Alpha smiles, a tender, fatherly smile. “You, little madam, are in no condition to come back to my bed.”

She tips her head back, savoring the delicious stretch in her neck. “For sleepin’, goosey sill.”

Strange, all the pocket lights on the ceiling are circling each other. Around and around and around…

_So pretty…_

“I do not sleep in a bed, my sweet,” her Alpha presses another glass to her lips. His voice is mercurial, velvet-soft. “Now drink.”

She does. This time, it is water. Cool and crisp and refreshing.

When it’s finished, she hums and sways, savoring how cold her tongue feels against the roof of her mouth.

_Like Alpha’s._

In a blind, white watercolor dream, she feels her arms around his neck and falls forward.

He catches her by the lips.

His kiss goes on and on, unraveling forever, winding deeper and deeper down. Colors prism behind her closed eyelids. Dimly, she hears a ringing in her ears.

_So this is love._

“Fuck me,” she whispers when their lips peel apart. The sensual echo mingles with his chuckle.

“Soon, angel. After you’ve eaten and had your bath.”

_Mmm, food…_

“And I need to feed _. Soon.”_

Now _that_ pops her eyes open. The room’s too bright, cycling crystal honeycombs out of control. Still, she croaks over the roaring of her heart, “What?”

“Not on you, treasure. My baby, _Rey,_ ” he says as he wraps his cool, strong arms around her wilting, burned-out body and lifts her. His cold breath in her ear makes her shiver and hold on too tight, “Not tonight…”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, babies. Thank you for reading another.
> 
> I wanted to let you know that I'll be updating each of my Rux fics - No Ordinary Stars, Papa Can You Hear Me, hidden flowers, To love and cherish - with a new chapter each, beginning with Blood Moon. Then I'm taking a few weeks to finish up an original work. 
> 
> But don't you worry. I'll be back ; )

**Author's Note:**

> Your kudos and comments are so loved and appreciated.
> 
> Come frolic with me on Tumblr: https://royramsey.tumblr.com/


End file.
